Koemi
by MaliBiser
Summary: Orochimaru sends Sasuke after a runaway experiment. The overconfident Avenger isn't aware that the fugitive is very intent on reaching his destination. Sasuke/OCs. M for occasional violence.
1. Chestnuts

**Disclaimer: **_No surprises here. I own a few OCs, and they're pretty spottable. Everything else is the intelectual property of Masashi Kishimoto._

**A/N - **_I can honestly say that this is the story I never thought I would write. It's not even the kind of story I would usually _read_, but you know what - I'm in love with it. So thank you for giving it a chance. :)_

**Relevant information**: Sasuke's about 14 years old, plot takes place during his training with Orochimaru. 'Sabiiro' would translate as 'Rusty' (colour), or so Internet claims.

_If you'd like a reading-soundtrack, I recommend "Good Bye Lenin OST". Not only is the movie really good - t__he music is amazing. 'Watching Lara' inspired the whole story in the first place. Okay, I'm done._

* * *

**1. Chestnuts**

Wet twigs made a sick, mushy sound under the sole of his shoe. He could almost imagine moisture penetrating the hard texture of his heel, working its way up through invisible cracks in the metal and reaching the core of the thing that had replaced his right leg several years ago. He couldn't tell just how many years had passed.

The air was cold, but not uncomfortable. It playfully pinched the parts of him that could still feel the late autumn's bite. His left hand was chapped-red, but he wasn't about to complain. He would choose a blizzard under the real sky over the stuffy stench of warm, torch-lit chambers in a heartbeat.

He didn't mind being outside. If only Shun weren't such a funny guy.

_'Send a one-armed man to get the firewood. Such a card, that one'_, his thoughts were dry.

_'You can go, Sabiiro. And be careful not to catch rust. ... Funny, funny guy. Smart, too'_, he bent over squishy leaves, ferreting out broken branches that would sooner turn liquid than catch fire.

_'Well, smart enough to become the leader. Hey, Sabiiro, why don't you suck up to Four-Eyes? You could get your very own molester squad in no time.'_

He grunted as a particularly thick branch refused to leave the mud-cake. It gave out with a sucking sound after he imagined it to be a living part of his 'senpai'.

It seemed Shun could never run out of the 'metal-man' material. Or various puns revolving around Sabiiro's nickname.

It was a stupid nickname. The metal parts of his body were fire-proof, water-proof and rust-resistant. Four-Eyes saw to that. Not for his health's sake, of course. It simply wouldn't pay off if such an experiment failed due to basic neglect. Yet, 'Sabiiro' stuck. He wondered if Shun ever learned his real name.

For a moment, he couldn't remember it himself.

It slowly swam out from the foggy depths of his mind. Souta. It had been Souta.

The scary part was that he wasn't all that troubled about losing it for a moment. In essence, it belonged to another man. Someone younger, and whole.

The twigs began to slip from under his metal armpit, and Sabiiro caught them with his red, human hand. An image of bearing down on Shun's cowering figure flashed in his mind. The sense of shoving the thin barrel which had taken up his right hand's place into the man's mouth and feeding him a few chakra blasts. Or shooting (or ripping) off the guy's arms and saying: "Hey, Shun. How about getting firewood?"

An unconscious smile soon faded.

Yeah, that's what he was. All talk. He was six feet two, weighed 220 pounds and had an arsenal attached to his body. He could snap Shun in two if he put his mind to it, but he knew well enough that he never would. Toothless dogs bark, don't bite.

And he was past the effort.

The already meek sunlight was quickly losing what little warmth it could offer. The dull yellow circle was making its descent. He should probably hurry if they wanted to make camp before the night settled. Sabiiro (who was once Souta) walked deeper into the forest, searching for a dry spot.

The memory of his former name dampened his already lousy mood. It brought back questions he thought he had resolved long ago. They were naggy little pests, which had a way of cocooning inside a man even when he knew perfectly well they would cause him nothing but misery and indigestion.

_(what would your life be like if...)_

_(where would you now be if...)_

Sabiiro blinked hard and grunted to himself. Nonsense. He grabbed a mossy piece of wood and shook off a dangling spider. Nonsense. Rubbish. Poppycock.

The pile of wood almost slipped from him again, but the left hand automatically caught the escapees. A curious wave of cold butterflies washed over him while his heart drummed against a partly metal ribcage.

_Poppycock. _

_'I haven't thought about it in years. It sprang up together with Souta. Funny how all these things jump on a man all at once.'_

Probably had to do with all the chestnut trees around him.

The village he used to live in was surrounded with chestnut trees. They still held a little magic over him. He remembered pulling pranks with their unopened pointy burrs. If memory served well, he would plant them under his sister's bed covers, and she would always chase him around the yard afterwards.

_'Oi, Sabiiro. You don't wanna go there.' _He shook his head. _'Just don't.'_

The wind was steadily growing stronger. He should probably head back. It wasn't like he didn't gather _anything_ (he spared the sad, soggy pile a dubious look).

Just that... he wasn't ready to part with the scenes which the woods stirred to life. The pain was bittersweet.

Telling himself not to think of Satoyo (_'Sabiiro, don't. You'll only make yourself worse')_, he began a slow stroll deeper into the shadowy forest, convincing himself that the light was still good and that he could prolong his search for fuel.

_'I wonder what she's doing right now? Has she married that guy? (Stop it. You know where it'll lead you.)'_

He stopped inspecting the ground.

_'Did she stay in Kuroguma or did she move elsewhere? She always wanted to live in a bigger place. And did she (there we go...) take Koemi with her?'_

Something clutched his heart with sharp, pointy nails. He knew it would. He had allowed himself to think of the one name that was supposed to be buried beyond the point of excavation. He had to sit down now.

Sabiiro threw himself down on a damp tree trunk, letting the wood-pile slip from his hold. His heart sniffled and moaned, and he waited for it to stop.

For the first time after several years of tight control, an image of a little girl, darkhaired and big-eyed, wedged behind his shut eye-lid.

_Koemi._

_I wish I was dead for real._

The thought rhythmically pulsed in his mind as the evening shadows slowly extended over prostrate logs and shriveling leaves. After some time, Sabiiro sniffled and brushed the corner of his good eye with his thumb. Sure enough, it was damp.

_'Alright. Enough of that, you pussy.' _He quickly picked up the discarded branches and stood up. _'Time for a reality check. But you know... This place does look awfully familiar.'_

He was about to turn around when the last thought caught on. _Really _caught on. Sabiiro glanced around at the wide tree trunks and moss-covered rocks. It wasn't possible.

It wasn't possible.

If he _was_ by any coincidence where he thought he was, there had to be a forest brook not far away to the east, and that was impossible. But Sabiiro still started walking, barely aware of picking up speed.

Upon hearing a faint sound of gurgling water, he broke into an all-out run.

In a manner of minutes, Sabiiro (who was now dangerously close to considering himself Souta again) stood before a shallow flow of dark, glittering water. Orange leaves travelled down the brook's course like some small colourful armada.

His knees threatened to buckle in front of a sight from his childhood.

* * *

_'This is not good.'_

Sabiiro stood before a miracle, experiencing a nasty onset of panic.

How was it possible that Snake-Eyes' hideout, in which he spent last six months, stood so close to Kuroguma's area? How was it possible that he didn't notice it until that day?

Step back.

_'It's getting late. You have to head back. You can't have Shun getting suspicious.' _

Sabiiro hated himself in a second. He could practically feel Snake-Eyes' leash tighten around his neck.

Getting afraid wasn't normal. Was he honestly that broken in his head?!

_'Yes, Sabiiro. They fixed you up. And there's a good reason why you're this way. So turn around and think up an excuse for Shun.'_

"_Move"_, he whispered to himself.

But both the human and the metal leg seemed to have taken roots in the ground. A strange fancy caught onto him.

What would it be like if he crossed the brook and went just a little further into the territory?

_'That's crazy! ... They'd catch me in a second.'_

Except they wouldn't, of course. The truth was that defying Snake-Eyes was inconceivable. It was something people didn't do.

Seeing the brook and the chestnuts was nice, and he'll definitely have something to think about once he gets back to his cell-room. Trying to make a run for it would be a mad man's move.

Reluctantly, Sabiiro turned his back to the water. His gaze landed on the darkening cluster of trees up ahead.

After half a minute, the man dropped the pile of wood and dashed across the narrow stream. He ran deeper into the chestnut forest at a crazy pace, more to create a distance from himself than from the soon-to-be persecutors.

* * *

Kabuto heard a shout and a distinct sound of electric discharge, so he paused in front of the shut door of the underground dojo. He let himself in only after hearing a meaty sound of flesh hitting the hard stone tiles. Orochimaru glanced in his direction, while Sasuke quickly jumped to his feet, trying to mask panting breath behind an ice-cold gaze. Kabuto allowed himself a small smirk before sobering up and pushing back his glasses.

He disliked bringing Orochimaru bad news.

"What is it, Kabuto-kun?" Judging by the excited thrill in the Sannin's voice, it had been a good training session. Little could lighten up Orochimaru's mood these days like Sasuke's innovative ways of losing spars.

Kabuto resisted the urge to adjust his glasses once more.

"Orochimaru-sama, I'm afraid the news isn't good. One of our task-forces is reported missing. It is believed he attempted escape."

Orochimaru returned his eyes on Sasuke. "Is that all? You're wasting my time."

"I apologize, Orochimaru-sama, but the missing man is of some importance to you. He is Sabiiro from the Test Squad."

A spark of interest lit up the pale man's tapered eyes. "The one with metal parts, eh?"

"Hai. You can see why I couldn't send the tracking team after him. I wanted to ask your permission to leave and hunt him down myself." Kabuto sighed, showing displeasure with the time-consuming task.

"No."

Kabuto looked up.

"You see, Kabuto, young Sasuke-kun believes he has made much progress. I'd like to test that."

Sasuke calmly met Orochimaru's gaze. His eyes were cold and unreadable.

"Sasuke-kun. We will put your tracking abilities on trial. Your mission will be to catch this man and bring him back, dead or alive, whatever suits you best."

The Sannin's purple tongue crawled between his teeth and licked his thin, pale lips.


	2. Test-Within-a-Test

**A/N - **_thanks to the first reviewers!_

* * *

**2. Test-Within-a-Test**

The key to running is not to think. The key to running _away_ is to eventually pause and switch on the brain. Sabiiro had ran for many miles before he was finally forced to do the latter. He had reached a crossroad.

He didn't let himself fall to the ground because he knew well enough that it would be difficult to make himself get up again. Leaning on his knees, the man listened to the ringing noise in his ears while his breath skipped and stuttered, unable to match the requirements of his madly beating heart.

_'I'd throw up if I had anything to throw up.'_

His eyes wandered up to the dreary array of half-naked chestnut trees. The forest seemed to have no end. The effect it had on him was strange: both mortifying and homely.

He was further away from Snake-Eyes' hideout and more alone than ever before. Way beyond the point of simply turning back. Even if he tried that, Four-Eyes would never buy into his excuses. What could he come up with, anyway?

That he detected a threat and hunted them down? But where were the bodies and the signs of fighting?

That he got lost? He wasn't ten.

Sabiiro shook his head. He was in too deep. He wasn't cut out for doing grand-scale things on his own. And fleeing from Orochimaru's service was grand-scale.

_'Alright. For starters, get out of the freaking public road. You're a giant machine man and people aren't blind.'_

It was a wonder he hadn't met any passengers yet.

Sabiiro quickly got lost in the shrubbery, keeping an eye on the deserted path. Thorny branches bit into his skin, but he barely noticed. He was busy gawking at his glaringly visible footprints on the road. Following him would be easier than a game of connect-the-dots.

_'You knew it was kind of hopeless from the start.' _

Ever since he could remember, people would look at his massive frame and threatening strength, and conclude that he was just another brainless brute. Good for beating up a guy who owned you money or moving your furniture, but not the kind of man whom you would entrust with bookkeeping. People never expected him to think.

Sabiiro found this not a little insulting, but he soon enough adapted to the public opinion. Fitting into the image was easier than constantly proving everyone wrong.

When it came to intelligence, he considered himself a fair average. Yet standing in the bushes and staring at his own giant footsteps made him wonder if all those people were right.

He came that far because he went into it without any planning. It was luck, but sooner or later luck will run thin, and then he'll have to rely on his brains to get him through, and Sabiiro didn't feel up to the challenge.

_'If you know they'll catch you, where does that leave you? Then all you can do is...'_

He could almost taste the metal barrel on his tongue. The image of putting it into his mouth and blasting his head off was so vivid that Sabiiro felt goosebumps.

He felt that he wasn't strong enough for that, either.

_'You damn coward. You good-for-nothing piece of...'_

His mind registered the words written on a wooden tablet hammered on a pole between two crossing paths. The names of the villages on the right and up front.

Matsumura. Yakumo.

Those were two names of some previous era, which like so many things lately had more to do with the man named Souta than with the wreck called Sabiiro.

He had been to those places.

More than that.

Some twenty years ago, he met his future wife in Matsumura.

Young people flocked to a festival from all surrounding villages. He remembered going there with two or three buddies. They were a very loud and a very stupid bunch, but also damn lucky. Meeting Ayane was a miracle and luck must have played a huge part. She was so out of his league, yet in the end everything played out for him. They didn't hook up the same evening, but the night was still a milestone.

Years later, she would tease him that it couldn't have been so breathtakingly unforgettable since he couldn't even remember the colour of her yukata, and it was true. For the life of him, he couldn't tell what she was wearing, but there was this scene in his head, etched into the cornea of his eye.

A darkhaired beauty, face lit up by a lantern's glow, looking down, long eyelashes, caught in the act of turning her head.

Souta was nowhere nearly a poet, but if you had asked him then, he could have composed you a haiku.

While staring at the name of her village, Souta could almost hear himself laugh. The memory of his own laughter, as it was back then. A mere sight of her could have tugged the corners of his mouth up into a loopy grin.

His gaze travelled left, to the path leading to Yakumo. Some miles beyond Yakumo lay a village called Kuroguma. For all he knew, his daughter Koemi still lived there.

Suddenly, he knew what to do.

* * *

It was almost insulting how easy it was to follow the lead.

For a moment, Sasuke wondered if it wasn't a part of some elaborate trap, but no decent trap could be so obvious. The young man continued tracking the footprints in the humid forest ground. Although his eyes were dedicated to scattered leaves, Sasuke was well-aware of his surroundings, ready to fling a kunai or jump aside at a flicker caught by peripheral vision. After all, Kabuto's charts mentioned that the target had the ability of shooting chakra blasts through a metal barrel attached to his body. A long-range fighter. Such people liked to hide in tree-tops and mow down their opponents from a safe distance.

Although, from what he could deduce so far, the man was way too out of his wits to plan a counter-attack. Either scared or dumb as a rock.

_'Even Naruto would do _something _to hide his tracks.'_

Black eyebrows dipped, disturbing the otherwise perfectly blank expression, as would happen when the names of Sasuke's former comrades slunk into his thoughts.

He trained himself to quickly move onto another subject.

Metal barrel. Kabuto's experiments were ridiculous.

Even though he got used to the screams in the dark and encountering 'specimens' in the dim hallways, the months he spent under Orochimaru's supervision weren't enough to rid him of a sickening feeling in his gut. It was a sign of weakness, and he coached himself to steel it into disdain.

He could see why the fugitive would want to run away, and why his escape was so sloppy.

The guy probably didn't plan it, just seized an unexpected opportunity.

It wasn't brave, but stupid.

When his time came, Sasuke would do it properly. Except that he wouldn't _run_ away, of course. He would walk out of the complex, leaving Orochimaru's corpse behind him. Bruised flesh, still tender from the spar with the Sannin, ached when brushed by the purple rope belt, and Sasuke's eyebrows dipped lower.

It didn't take him long to figure out what Orochimaru really wanted to learn from Sasuke's mission.

On the surface, the assignment was clear-cut enough. Track the fugitive. It was Orochimaru's last casual remark that rang Sasuke's alarm. _'Dead or alive. Whatever suits you best.'_

Well, which was it? Dead or alive? There was quite a difference between the two, and Sasuke could hardly expect Orochimaru to be so indifferent to the fate of his experiments.

But that was the point. The choice was up to him. The mission was a test-within-a-test.

Orochimaru wanted to see if Sasuke grew capable of murdering a man.

He just didn't know what the answer was yet himself. The thought was disconcerting.

The tracks ceased after a while. Not surprising. Sasuke was at a crossroad. The guy had to stop to figure out where to go, but there weren't any visible footprints on either of the roads.

_'Looks like he started thinking. Up, then.'_

Sasuke cast of the ground, landing on a comfortably thick chestnut branch without so much as rustling the yellow leaves. He turned on the Sharingan for good measure, but soon switched it off. The damage done to the tree-tops by his target was visible to the naked eye. He could follow him in the trees just as well as on the ground.

According to the data Kabuto gave him, the target (Sabiiro, they called him) was a tall and heavy man, not fit for travelling through tree-tops. Sasuke wondered why Orochimaru and Kabuto would bother with a task-force that was so obviously lacking the basic requirements for a shinobi. The man couldn't even weave chakra, since he was short an arm. As an experiment, he was imperfect, obviously a transition phase. The only reason Sasuke could find for hunting the man down was that the Slimy Duo didn't want to see their project in someone else's hands.

_'Don't forget that he did survive several years in Orochimaru's service, missing an arm or not.'_

It would be stupid to underestimate this man, although it was difficult not to do so when Sasuke witnessed a huge number of rookie errors. Maybe this Sabiiro was only useful when a part of a larger group, when someone else had to think for him.

Whatever the case, Sasuke wondered why would such a person, who obediently fulfilled all his tasks for years, suddenly develop an itch for flight. But it didn't matter. He had much more important things to guess than Sabiiro's motives.

Sasuke's ear caught a sound of rushing water, and if he remembered the terrain layout correctly, there was a river up front.

Interesting. Sasuke wondered how Sabiiro would handle that.

* * *

The river was neither particularly deep nor wild. Sasuke measured the width of the river bed with a glance. Sabiiro could have easily crossed to the other side, but not without getting wet. The man couldn't consciously control his chakra, so walking on water wasn't an option.

Up to that point, Sabiiro's path was vexingly straightforward. It seemed that the guy was incapable of making a turn, and Sasuke failed to see why he would start now.

Wearing a bored expression, he stepped on the shifty surface and walked to the stretching line of thorny shrubbery that made the other bank. He wasn't that surprised to find the continuation of Sabiiro's careless destruction path on the spot almost directly opposite to the one where Sasuke entered the water. _'Brainless.' _

There, the branches were torn and the shrubs were treaded through. It couldn't have been long ago, because the spiders barely started to repair their broken webs.

Sasuke's foot suddenly froze in mid-air. His eyes widened as they trailed along a thin thread stretched between two shrubs. He thought it had been a mere spider-thread, flimsy and barely visible, but spider-threads didn't have a metal glint in the sunlight.

The boy squatted for a better look and almost incredulously followed the course of a shinobi wire. In the surrounding shrubbery he soon detected half a dozen paper bombs strategically arranged so as to blow his leg off had he activated the trap.

Sasuke straightened up and frowned.

So the man was capable of some strategy. Well enough. Sasuke would be too bored otherwise.

The question was where Sabiiro went next.

Quick scanning of the terrain behind the shrubbery told his Sharingan that Sabiiro didn't continue his run on the ground nor in the branches. But Sasuke didn't really think the man would choose to travel by land.

Rivers were the perfect setting for covering up tracks. Walking on the river was what Sasuke would have done. Since Sabiiro couldn't walk on the surface, he probably walked through the mud, fighting the current. But which way: up or down the river?

Sasuke followed his hunch when he chose to walk against the water flow. According to Kabuto's maps of the area, the river soon ended in a nasty waterfall. Sasuke's bet was up the river.

Even if he was wrong, he would catch that man eventually. There was no doubt about it.

Sasuke's gaze travelled back to the booby-trapped piece of land. The guy was probably still close enough to notice a stream of grey smoke billowing up to the soggy sky. Sasuke saw no harm in making the fugitive believe his trap was a success. He threw a shuriken at the thin wire from a safe distance and the thorny shrubs blew up to pieces, showering the clear-blue water with dirt and hissing branches.

He stepped back on the river surface, but not before cutting himself a long staff from a nearby branch. It was approximately six feet tall.

Sabiiro was partly made of metal. Swimming against the current probably wasn't easy for him. Once the water came over him, he would in all likelihood resume to travel on land.

Sasuke walked on the river for about half an hour, poking the water with his new-made tool. When the wooden staff completely disappeared under the surface, he looked around to find a sign that Sabiiro had crawled back to dry land.

He smirked.

_'Bingo.'_


	3. Playing War

**3. Playing War**

Souta watched the thick grey smoke dissolve in the pale blue sky. He still couldn't believe that his makeshift trap was a success. Although – he scowled – he shouldn't have been surprised that they managed to come that far so quickly.

He couldn't be sure, but the guys going after him were probably Shun's squad. Take care of your own, right? Those men couldn't be disabled with a pair of paper bombs, even if the bombs exploded right under their feet. Sooner or later, they would pick up his track again.

How long was he going to put off the inevitable?

Souta turned his gaze away from the explosion. He wasn't that far away from Yakumo any longer. Every step brought him closer to Koemi.

One last glance of her became his goal. But it wouldn't do if he reached her only to die twenty meters from her doorstep. He shuddered at the thought of leading a bunch of killers anywhere near her.

He had to get rid of them, or die trying, while he was still far enough not to endanger Koemi's life.

One man against a squad of four. The odds weren't exactly in his favour.

His eyes fell on the line of the hill rising in the distance. The ravines were misted over as the sun began its descent. In a couple of hours it would be dusk.

Souta's mouth spread into a grin as the familiar rising shape found its place in his hollowed memory. Suddenly, he had this crazy idea.

* * *

Sasuke frowned at the worn-out wood of the mine shaft leading into deep, thick darkness. The sunlight didn't reach far into the entrance of the decrepit construction, yet it clearly showed him the footprints in the dust. Sabiiro was in there somewhere.

At first, Sasuke couldn't make out why the man would suddenly change his unswerving course and turn north towards the hill. It made much more sense now. All along Sabiiro knew where he was and where he wanted to go. Home-field advantage.

Huh.

The passages running through the heart of the hill were probably booby-trapped, but Sasuke wasn't made of sticks and hay. The Uchiha Avenger stepped into darkness. Red eyes grazed through the black void.

* * *

Many, many years ago, in what could have been called another lifetime, Souta spent one summer in his uncle's house in Yakumo. Every fine day his cousins would tell his aunt that they would take Souta out fishing. The three boys would neatly leave the house with fishing poles and a bucket for the prize, turn away at the sight of the river and rush to the Cripple's Hill.

The very name of the place promised adventure.

With the fishing equipment tossed aside in the tall grass, Souta and his cousins would spend the entire day climbing up the rocky hillsides or exploring the old mine shaft. The goal of every expedition was to find misplaced dynamite, or at least discover a sign of Iwagakure shinobi presence. After all, reliable sources (the local drunk) confirmed that in the Second Shinobi War the mines were in Stone's possession.

Since every of this "missions" was a failure, the boys would soon turn to the next best thing. Playing war.

Hisato and Hyosuke might have known the terrain better, but Souta quickly caught up. He would disappear in the labyrinth of corridors, and the brothers would rush into search.

He was a local spy who infiltrated the Iwa nest. His cousins were two Iwa guards who wanted to capture him. It was hide-and-seek with an elaborate background.

All this and much more than he would bargain for came back to Souta with every breath of the cool cavern air, faintly scented with sawdust.

While trying his best not to think of Hisato and Hyosuke and whether their own children sneaked out to play in the abandoned mine, Souta strove to fit into the tight space which he once found comfortable enough.

_'Back in the day this was a royal chamber.'_

He decided to wait for the trackers in his favourite hiding place. Not much had changed in thirty years. He could still feel his way around in the complete dark.

The tight corridor in which he squatted was his very own secret discovery. Souta was positive his cousins knew nothing about it, and he made sure it stayed that way. It was his trump card, the reason why almost every game ended with him as a winner.

The funny thing about the secret corridor was that a good part of it ran parallel with the main passage. And it didn't hurt that some of the mine's walls were scratched with cracks. Once his eyes got used to the dark, Souta could easily catch the sight of movement in the main one, and choose the right moment for sneaking out of the cave complex.

In an ironic twist of fate, Souta in his "Sabiiro" edition didn't even need to strain his eyes. All he had to do was use his right, medically inserted machine eye. It registered heat, and no living being could escape its gaze.

He would be safe and able to see Snake-Eyes' Team at the same time. It was perfect in all aspects.

_'And even if they catch me, this would be a good place to die. Better than any I could've imagined two days ago.' _His hand rested on the cold stone._' ... But let's not be hasty.'_

Souta wiped his bald head and resumed waiting. He waited for what felt like hours before he thought he heard a sound.

_'If I haven't lost my mind in the dark already, those are definitely footsteps.' _He slowly moved closer to one of the cracks. _'So here goes.'_

He wasn't surprised to find his heart picking up the pace, but he didn't expect the feeling to be so intensely familiar. It didn't matter whether his chasers were his cousins or a band of thugs. Souta still felt the thrill of a chased one.

He brought his right eye to the crack. Cooler air brushed the human skin.

There, the footsteps were growing closer. A field of orange-red walked into his line of vision. And passed. No one followed.

_'What? There's only one? But how can...'_

Souta had no chance of finishing the thought before a shot of blinding light invaded his vision.

He cried out and instinctively jumped away, when he felt a strong and strange sensation. Something hit him hard and held him pinned to the opposite wall. The metal parts of his body were somehow teeming, or bristling, with a strange bee-hive feeling. The human parts felt uncomfortably numb.

_'What the hell's happening?!' _he gasped while the air filled with an unbelonging sound of chirping birds. The ray of light burned his vision even with both of his eyes squeezed.

"Found you", a voice said, and Souta's eyes opened.

A lightning bolt held his body to the ground, having hit the metal of his chest. It came through the crack.

It took him a few hitched breaths to realize he might still move. Souta pushed himself to the left, while the lightning grazed against the metal, making an ugly, scratchy sound. As soon as he freed himself, Souta jumped to his feet and ran through the dark passages, bumping against the narrow walls and hitting the low ceiling, led by muscle memory.

_'How could he tell where I am?!'_

_'If he's the only one, he must be the real deal!'_

_'If he catches me, it's _over_ over. I die right here, at this very spot.'_

His ears strained to catch the sound of the other man's running, but his own steps were too loud. In a matter of minutes his path would once again merge with the main passage, and then all would come down to a literal run for his life. For a moment, Souta wondered if he wasn't making a dumb mistake and wouldn't it be smarter to stay in the hidden corridor and hope that the tracker wouldn't catch him.

Somehow, he didn't have the nerve for that.

And if he managed to reach the exit to the mine before the other guy, then maybe he might still do one thing.

_'You're playing war. Just playing war. All you have to do is be faster than those two. Or him.'_

Souta increased his speed, just as another lightning bolt charred the wall behind where his head had been less than a second ago. The bastard was quick! How could the bastard be so quick?!

Souta nearly slammed into a wall, barely making a turn on time. He returned a blind shot, keeping his eyes ahead. There was a sound of the chakra blast encountering rock, but no human cries. Still, it couldn't have hurt.

All he needed was a spare second. He could see a small prickle of fading daylight slowly expanding into an exit from the mine. Souta pushed his body harder.

Barely three steps out of the dark, Souta spun on his heel and shot another blast at the rocks above the entrance. The hill rumbled and spat boulders as the entrance to the mine caved in, but not before wide-eyed Souta had a clear look of his opponent's face. The young man was maybe six feet away from the exit when the great stones covered the hole.

_'He'll get out. I don't know how, but he definitely will.'_

But he didn't.

As the stone dust slowly began to settle on the result of the avalanche (and Souta awaited for the young tracker to break through the stone barrier and kill him), something unexpected happened.

Barely seconds after the rolling stones hushed to a stop, the silence burst into an explosion.

A wave heat scorched Souta's skin, and the violence of the blast lifted all 220 pounds of him into the air before crashing him to the ground.

Before his consciousness gave in to dancing black specks, Souta thought he heard ('felt' was the right term) another two explosions.

* * *

The first thing he realized was that the world was silent. It wasn't natural, but deafening – as if his ears were jammed with cotton. His hand carefully reached up to the sensitive earlobes.

Good. No wet, warm feeling. If there was no blood, then maybe his hearing would come back in a couple of minutes.

Souta blinked. The sun was gone behind the neighbouring hilltops, but the light still didn't completely withdraw from the sky. Still, it was a little bit darker than he expected. He couldn't tell how long he was unconscious.

Memories sprang up and so did Souta. His head swam in a throbbing mist. Standing up was still too much of a feat, so he satisfied with leaning on his good elbow.

Nearby shrubbery caught fire and burnt with a clear, orange glow, standing out from the cool evening shadows. It wouldn't be long before people in Yakumo realized something happened on the Cripple's Hill.

_'But what was it?'_

He had shot at the entrance to block it, but the explosions weren't his doing. All of his remaining paper bombs still lay in his weapon pouch.

_'Could it be...?' _

What was the chance that the collapse triggered mining dynamite, or residual Iwa explosives? The things he and his cousins spent hours finding. _'Maybe it really was here all along, buried or hidden somewhere we haven't looked?'_

Hyosuke would be glad to know. Or annoyed. He had been most bent on finding them.

Souta slowly got to his knees. His human hand brushed across his face, as if to check if indeed all parts were still in their places. It dropped down, marked with a strange black smear. His eyebrows, he realized. Charred by the heat wave. Souta's mouth spread into an awkward grin. _'Funny.'_

The man lowered his head to the ground. The touch of cool dark earth against his aching temples felt right. It was appropriate to bow down before the unknown force, call it fate if you want, that brought him to the chestnut wood, through Matsumura crossroad, and to Cripple's Hill. That made him stay alive.

A feeling of certainty, unsupported by any rational thought, grew in him.

He wasn't fooling himself. There would be other trackers. One or the other would succeed.

But not today.

And he was at a night's run from Kuroguma.

He would be seeing Koemi tomorrow.


	4. Little Death

**4. Little Death**

Evening dark enveloped the remains of the caved-in shaft. Starlight lay on the dark mass of the quiet hill when the pebbles began to shake.

A great, dark shape burst from the ground, and proceeded to pull its long body out of the earth's constraints. Once it got its tail out of the hole, the large serpent coiled and spat out a wet bundle. It hissed at the content of its stomach, as he somewhat shakily rose to his feet. Heated red gaze met the snake's cold one.

The great snake's tongue whipped the air one last time before it disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Sasuke cursed under his breath, and collapsed onto his knees.

The wound on his right leg still bled profusely. No wonder the snake was reluctant to spit him out.

When the cave's ceiling started crumbling to pieces and he earned the gash, Sasuke used too much chakra in the quick summoning. The snake was too powerful. He barely managed to convince it, using electricity and wasting more of his chakra, to let him out. The serpent somehow put into its head that eating the summoner would be acceptable retribution for being summoned into an exploding cave.

It was humiliating.

Eight months of training and he still wasn't capable of controlling Orochimaru's minor summons, let alone Manda. Sasuke pulled out a bundle of bandages and worked on the wound. He had failed to learn any medical ninjutsu, also. This mission was proving to be an eye-opener. Sasuke mercilessly tightened the binding.

The target.

He should have known lightning style wouldn't work on him.

Sasuke's lightning hit his inhuman side, and the metal functioned as a conductor. The lightning ran straight through Sabiiro and down into the ground. Kabuto could have mentioned the fact earlier, but he probably concluded that Sasuke would be able to guess that for himself.

Some of the hatred Sasuke cultivated for his brother slipped from his control and redirected to the machine man. He made him feel stupid.

But Sabiiro's advantage wouldn't last long. And he couldn't say that he didn't profit from the failure. He now knew what to fix once he returned to Orochimaru's dojo.

Sasuke straightened up, tucking the hatred back where it rightfully belonged.

Still, the 'kill' option began to attract him.

The young Uchiha rose his gaze to the scattered stars. Sabiiro had a nice head-start, but he probably didn't count on one thing.

Sasuke could see in the dark.

* * *

The metal leg dragged across the leaves, grubbing the humid soil. Souta could swear it grew heavier with every passing minute.

He had been running for the whole night, and it looked like he would reach his destination before daybreak. His footsteps became flabby, resolution leaking out of his frame with every gained inch. Souta was hungry and exhausted – but more than that, he was steadily becoming terrified.

Step. Step. Step. Memory. Memory. Memory.

His left arm feebly flailed in the dark and caught a thick branch. Bald head leaned on the forearm, and heavy breaths misted the night air.

_'I can't do this... I don't want to do this.' _Souta slid to the ground and hid his face in the crook of his human arm. In some insane way, it was easier to run with someone at his heels than now when the open road stretched before him.

He wasn't able. He couldn't walk up to Kuroguma after ten years or so and lie his eyes on Koemi. Koemi's father was dead, and Souta-of-today was a dead man's shadow. Without looking, he could feel the cold metal barrel touching his left leg, and he moved the artificial arm away with disgust.

This thing they made of him... This thing he made of himself... Ugh.

A cloud passed over the pale moon, and the darkness grew thicker. The darkness overtook Souta's mind.

He remembered when Four-Eyes took his right arm away. He remembered waking up to the fire in his body, as something new, as a mutant of some kind. When his hazy eyes looked around, his head still too fuzzy to panic over the unknown and unfamiliar, he saw something white shelved on a cupboard near his bed.

The old rage, the rage which he felt back then, heated Souta's veins again.

It was his arm.

His severed right arm.

And an unfeeling slab of metal in its place.

Even through the haze of the fire, Souta could see the thin pink scar running from his right thumb to the wrist. The scar was as old as him. And watching it, Souta could feel most acutely that that arm belonged to him, and that somebody took it away, no questions asked.

New blood pumped harder through his tender, healing vessels, and Souta felt murderous.

On the obscure metal cupboard, almost within an arm's reach if you wanted to be funny as hell, Souta's right hand was rotting away. A part of him was dead.

His little death.

It was when those words passed through his mind that Souta's rage withdrew. A dumb, numb realization cooled his thoughts.

His right arm was dead, but he was not. That sickly white thing lying on a metal cupboard could have been him. The survival instinct jolted his nerves, and a mad fear of dying seized him.

It was that same cowardly need to stay alive which turned him into a faithful lapdog of his savior/tormentor. The bespectacled, silver-haired man soon revealed himself.

In the following ten years he had killed for that man and that man's master more times than he could count. When Souta awoke, Four-Eyes told him he had found Souta mostly dead next to a number of charred corpses, his skin almost entirely burned from the right side of his body. Four-Eyes took him in and repaired him, adding a few extra parts. Souta should thank Four-Eyes for his life, and Four-Eyes was sorry to tell him that, taking his current condition into consideration, Souta's return to his home village would do more damage than good. Souta agreed.

Souta kept on agreeing for ten years, until yesterday when he realized where the forest path led.

Koemi was better off without him. She was so small when he left that she probably retained only a handful of fuzzy memories. What right did he have to come and see her?

He had once pressed the barrel against a man's stomach, and blasted off his bowels.

The tracker whose death he caused only a few hours ago was so _young_.

...

Souta peeked at the sky overhead. The dark blue was lighting up. Not much time was left before daybreak.

In the end, Souta was a selfish man. And a coward. He didn't know which was more cowardly – continuing or retreating, so he would let selfishness prevail. After all, he had already come a long way.

He would take one good look of her, and draw back to the shadows.

Maybe he would kill himself. Maybe he would leave it to Snake-Eyes' next tracker. It suited him either way.

* * *

With every familiar rock or tree, Souta pushed the quivering part of him deeper into his inner gray patches. He tried to make himself as indifferent as the cool metal of his body. No pain, no thoughts, just steps.

It didn't work.

He couldn't stop marveling at how many things he had forgotten. Even in the weakening darkness, mislaid memories kept springing up.

The tree onto which the neighbour's dog chased him once. The sneaky root that gave him his most badass scar.

... And the chestnut branch, as thick as both his arms, where once upon a time he planned to put a swing for his infant daughter, which he never got to make.

He was close. No matter how slow he had walked for the last few miles, the house in which he grew up lay just around the bend.

_'... Well... Get done with it.'_

The last few meters felt like gliding through a watery dreamscape. In a blink of an eye, the past incarnated before his eyes.

Almost as if he never left.

Almost as if nothing had changed but him.

The starlight was fading, and the little wooden house stood perfectly still in the early hours of the morning. It was hard to tell whether it was inhabited or not, but Souta felt that life already dealt him enough nasty surprises. Somebody must have slept inside. It might be her. A few hours of sleep and Souta would know.

Not taking his eyes from the closed shutters of a low window, Souta made his way toward a solid black shape, towering not far away from the main house. In the distant past it used to be some sort of a stable/toolshed, but in Souta's time it was already a crumbling ruin no one got near to except his father. Even in the dark, Souta could tell it came nearer the final collapse. Perfect.

The unlocked door almost fell from the hinges at the pull, and Souta carefully stepped into the realm of decay. A humid smell of rotting wood, sodden with rainwater, attacked his nostrils, and little feet scuttled in the right corner. _'Nice and comfy, no doubt. Just like the cell back home.' _

Remnants of rusty tools crumbled beneath his feet, but Souta could hardly fear tetanus. He proceeded to make himself space on the grimy floor, waving away cobweb.

_'And you used to say you'll tear the old place down... Look how useful it turned out to be.'_

It was impossible to see anything through the dirty window-panes, but the glass was broken, providing him with a nice, drafty peephole. He could keep watch over the house, and when the morning came, he would find out whether Koemi was in there. There was no future beyond that point.

Souta lay to catch up on sleep. The drama was drawing to a close.

* * *

His dreams were as broken as the glass scattered around his head, full of trees and faces and torch-lit hallways leading to nothing. The fabric of the figments was such a miscellany of clashing things that at first the sound of cock-crow didn't strike him as anything odd. It was when the cock-a-doodle-doo persevered and got louder that Souta finally awoke.

Opening his eyes to a bird's call. Well, that was a first in a decade. The illusion that he was still in his deep underground cell lasted for a second. The messy tooolhouse didn't offer much better prospects, but Souta's head snapped up when he remembered what was outside.

He got to his knees and dragged himself to the hole in the window.

The air was misty blue, still in the absence of the sun. The house remained calm and soundless as several hours ago, but Souta could now tell he had been wrong. It did change. Even the house was ten winters older.

His hunger awoke with him, and his stomach howled. Souta reached for his weapon pouch to bring out the standard military snack-bars Snake-Eyes equipped his men with.

He was just tearing the wrapper when something happened. A fraction of noise, coming from afar. Souta blinked, unsure if it was his imagination. It repeated.

If he hadn't spend ten years listening around for enemies, maybe he wouldn't have picked it up.

There. Almost as if coming from the house across the yard.

Before Souta could prepare himself, before he could tell himself that he couldn't do it, the shutters of the opposite house opened with a creak, and a vision appeared.

Souta stared at his dead wife leaning over the low window. The blackhaired girl, tresses still disheveled from bed, squinted up at the ruddy sky and yawned at the morning. She was gone in a second.

Souta kept kneeling and peeking, dumbfounded.

He got his glance of Koemi.

And now he needed much more.

* * *

**A/N -** _Now, I did my homework and asked a couple of science-oriented friends what would happen if a cyborg got hit by a lightning. Sparked no funny glances, nope, none at all. So I am aware that in a close encounter of that kind Souta wouldn't fare well. But then again, real life ninja don't exactly walk 30-meters-long free falls off, do they?_


	5. Prowler

**5. Prowler**

Souta had never been under a genjutsu.

Rogue or not, shinobi didn't waste their more delicate techniques on lowly civilians such as he used to be, and once he entered their circle Four-Eyes equipped him with a counter measure. The machine eye implanted in the right side of his head couldn't be fooled with illusions.

Still, if his left knee hadn't started hurting like mad after a while, Souta would have believed something had managed to pass Kabuto's defences. The sight was surreal.

He was transfixed by the empty, wind-beaten frame of the opposite window. Every now and then, always causing his breath to stop, a girl would pass by in pursuit of her morning chores.

It was uncanny how similar to Ayane her daughter grew up to be.

Souta pressed his nose to the worm-eaten windowsill, breathing in the scent of decaying wood. He couldn't get close enough to the hole in the stained glass.

She was beautiful. And it couldn't have been just the father in him talking, because his wife had been beautiful, too.

Koemi appeared in the dark window square, ducking to pick up a blanket. Souta watched her fold the thick fabric, fascinated. A muffled voice came from within the house, and Koemi stepped closer to the window to glance at the clouds.

„Looks like it won't rain just yet!" she called out over her shoulder, only to disappear again.

Souta wanted to close his eyes to memorize the sound of her voice when the house door opened. A stout female figure passed through. Even though he couldn't see her face, Souta immediately knew who she was. The thick reddish-brown hair was a remnant of his late mother.

_'Satoyo... So I was right. She did take Koemi in.'_

Souta's eyes followed his sister's back until she vanished behind the house, where the garden used to be. The sight of her simultaneously made his chest warm and his mouth twitch into a sad grin.

_'Eh, nee-chan. Years haven't treated us very well._'

She had always been pudgy, and in constant fear of growing fat. Although her fourty-year old body was far from ideal, Souta found her weight consoling. It made Satoyo look as solid and dependable as she really was. _'Always stronger of the two. Always there to fix my screw-ups.'_

When Souta left, Satoyo was engaged to be married. To a pompous fop, no less, but with the kind of face to make up for a lot of things. Funny how he couldn't remember his name, Kuuya or Kyoya or something... It would be much like him to sleep in late and make the girls do all the chores. Souta wondered if they had any kids.

... and disliked the idea of Koemi having a cousin who would be anything like the guy.

Souta closed his left eye and activated the implanted one. The rigid inhuman iris pierced the wooden walls in search of heat, but the only human shapes it could pick up were Koemi and a faraway figure bent over the ground, which would be Satoyo in the garden.

There was no man in the house and Souta stopped to think of a reason. Was Satoyo... a widow?

Or...

She never got married in the first place.

The handsome, annoying pale face flickered behind Souta's eyes, barely ressurected from his long-discarded memories. Kuuya or Kyoya or Kazuya or something... Thin moustache and a nazal voice.

Was he enough of a man to take a woman who was burdened with a four-year-old child?

A horrible feeling in the pit of Souta's stomach told him Kyoya was not.

The artificial eye remained fixed on the bent female figure digging in the dirt on the other side of the house.

_'Oh, nee-chan.'_

He owned her far more than he could ever repay.

* * *

Souta was still haunted by the images of the life his sister gave up for him, when his daughter decided to step outside the house. He followed her walk across the yard.

Her looks fell out of picture as Souta frenziedly searched for everything he had failed to see in the first place.

He saw her neat but worn-out clothes (_a pang_), red knuckles cracked with work (_a pang_), and the curious way she walked. There wasn't as much of Ayane there as he had first thought. Ayane had been delicate and dainty, like a porcelain cup. She surely never would have stalked through high, unmowed grass like that. Souta observed Koemi's unfazed face as she flicked a scampering bug off her sleeve, and wondered if it was perhaps his share of the genes or the routine of a hard life that toughened Koemi up.

What bothered him most in Koemi's close-up, however, was the expression on her face.

Ayane had wanted to call her Yuuka, and Souta agreed until the moment he took the new-born in his arms and blurry dark eyes opened. Two sensations seized him at once. The sudden knowledge that he loved that little bundle, unconditionally, at first sight. And the other one.

_'She should be laughing all her life. That's how it should be.'_

"Koemi", he had said to the baby, not even asking for his wife's opinion.

Koemi. Little laugh.

She looked as if her funny bone was broken.

Was it his fault? Probably was.

He watched her sit on a tree stump and start peeling potatoes for the day's meal, feeling with all his senses that the home he returned to wasn't a happy one, and that he was the reason.

If he chose to stay at home that night...

Would these two women, whom he cared about with all what was left in him, have been better off?

* * *

Minutes passed and Koemi's face became darker. Her lips contracted into a thin line. Something was bothering her.

So it bothered him, as well.

Her movements became careless, and she took a sharp breath when the kitchen blade skimmed across the side of her palm instead of the potato skin. She quickly brought her hand to her eyes and sighed with relief when there was no blood.

She frowned. He frowned.

What was wrong with her?

The sound of footsteps came from the other side of the house, and Koemi quickly resumed her work. Satoyo appeared with a big basket of all kinds of vegetable.

„I'm off to the market."

To sell, not to buy.

„Oba-chan..."

Satoyo stopped turning.

„I think I should go to the market today."

Satoyo smiled at the girl, but not in a good way, and Souta noticed something was off with her face.

„No need for that. I feel well enough."

„It's... uhm..." Koemi circled around something she didn't want to put into words. „It's really very green."

Satoyo's smirk broadened, and Souta finally realized that the right side of his sister's face consisted of a huge yellow-green swelling. The bruise covered her right cheek and made her eye squint.

„I know. I want them to see it!"

„Why? Will it make a difference?"

„No. But I won't let them pretend nothing is happening."

Koemi returned her attention to the bowl of potatoes in her lap. „How can people be so stupid?"

„Not stupid, Koemi. Cowards. That's what they are."

„And how brave do you need to be to hire a ninja!"

„Ninja are expensive and far away. Don't you see? The gang would return after the ninja took off – with a vengeance, no doubt. That's what the elders think."

„So lets do nothing?"

„Sure, the elders will do something. As soon as those guys start breaking into their own houses. They're getting cocky, so it might not take as long. In the meantime, did you take care of your mother's jewellery?"

„It's still in there from the last time, I didn't take it out."

„Good. It's the end of the month. I'd hate to see those guys get their hands on it."

Koemi gripped the knife's hilt tighter.

Satoyo walked closer to her niece and put a hand on the top of the girl's head.

„Don't worry so much. It'll pass."

Koemi looked up.

„Poppycock", she pronounced solemnly, and Satoyo had to laugh at her own favourite tag line. She affectionately tugged the girl's dark strand, and went away, slouching over the basket's weight.

Souta felt his brain on fire.

* * *

He slid to the floor, turning his back on the sight of his daughter. He couldn't look at her anymore.

Suddenly, he wished very much that he _was_ trapped in a genjutsu. Or a nightmare. The give-it-and-snatch-it-back type. In a couple of minutes, Genji would squirm in his sleep and the creaking of the bed above his head would bring Souta to awareness. The cell would be dark and stuffy and safe. Hundred times better than this reality in which he had to learn that his choices had ruined his daughter and sister. For good.

He couldn't undo it.

Souta's head fell into his palm and cool metal touched his face. He had to restrain from bashing his skull in.

Satoyo said 'the gang', and her face was very green indeed. It couldn't be the same guys. Kabuto himself confirmed they were dead. Charred up. But what if there were more of them? What if he didn't take all of them down? Or if another group formed?

And the girls were left unprotected for ten years. While he traipsed around as a part of a gang of his own.

Murdering other people's wives, orphaning other men's children.

For the first time in a decade, Souta opened his eyes and took a good look at his life. His lungs hurt as he strove for a shocked breath.

He wanted to say that he wished he was dead. He knew it wouldn't make a difference.

Ayane's pale face floated around the edges of the memories allowed.

Somebody moved outside. Souta shyly peeked over his shoulder. Koemi had gotten up and was returning to the house. Her bearing was steadfast and unfazed. She was used to her home being raided by a gang of rogue nin. It hurt like a thorn in his side.

Minutes passed and breathing hurt. Souta's brain ran around in painful circles, until he felt too exhausted to tamper with the wound any more. A tiny, tiny bright spot twinkled in the darkness.

He had brought all of this on his family, but maybe he was the one who could make it end.

Maybe this whole thing (the chestnut wood, the Matsumura crossroad, the Cripple's Hill) was a message from God, in whom he stopped believing ten years ago.

_'Do this one thing right. This one thing.'_

Maybe, when the gang returned in a couple of days, they would deal with more than just two helpless women.

* * *

The bandages were red again. He could feel the white fabric soddening.

Sasuke rested his screwed-up leg on the thick chestnut branch, reaching for a change of wrappings. Cool sunshine bathed broad golden-red leaves which hid him in soft autumn glow. The sun was mounting the sky. Too high already. He should have caught up with the man much earlier.

The boy checked the revealed wound and twisted his mouth in a frown. Not looking good. But he would have to grit his teeth and endure. The fight could issue at any moment now. Sabiiro was around here somewhere. His instincts and the ceased tracks agreed. Sasuke just needed the man to make the first move.

And then drag him away from the area before Sabiiro got the chance to take hostages. At first, Sasuke thought the fugitive had already invited himself to the civilian house below but then noticed that the female occupant went on doing her household chores at an unhurried pace. That probably wouldn't be the case if she knew a 6-feet human machine lurked in her kitchen.

No, Sasuke's money was on the shack across the yard. It would have been his choice of shelter for reccuperative sleep before moving on with the run. But he wanted proof before sneaking in, especially when every step stretched the sensitive skin around the bloody cut.

He didn't mind the wait now that he could guess the target's whereabouts. Even more so when he wasn't entirely sure what to do with the said target once it was caught.

Sasuke's frown deepened. _'Whatever suits you best.'_

He had no intention of becoming yet another one of Orochimaru's killer dogs. But he couldn't exactly deny that he desperately needed all types of practice if he wanted to get his revenge _and_ stay alive to reminisce about it. Was this the... 'practice' he needed?

Getting the feel of it, like getting used to the weight of a hilt. Knowing where to stab. How much blood came out. Did it... spurt.

A small lump tickled his throat and Sasuke gulped. He suddenly missed Kakashi. His former sensei would know how to make even killing sound honourable. He could make Sasuke feel like a good guy.

_'The target's no ray of sunshine. It would be doing society a favour,' _Sasuke tried for himself.

Still, there was too much Orochimaru involved in the business.

And he couldn't blame this Sabiiro guy for running away. Maybe he too had had enough of Orochimaru's ways.

Something moved below him, and Sasuke shifted for a better look.

It was the woman from the house. Or rather – a girl. A basket full of wet clothes hung from her arms.

The girl approached a clothes line stretched between two poles, and began filling it with washed linen. Sasuke habitually checked the wooden shack and blinked at the change. He tensed.

A face was pressed on the dirty, broken window pane. Eyes stared at the oblivious girl, never blinking, never shifting. The look in them was somehow hungry.

Sasuke felt sick.

So much for the 'good guy on the run for a better life'. The boy shifted to a squat, preparing to launch forward if Sabiiro made a move toward the girl. But nothing happened. Sabiiro just kept his intense, blind gaze.

_'Maybe he's waiting for the night.'_

Let him. Sasuke will be there.

And he will be a good guy once more.

* * *

**A/N - **_Constructive criticism would be appreciated. Tell me what you think. I need to hear the good stuff pointed out to keep me going on my new story, and I need to hear the bad stuff pointed out to become a better writer and shape up my feeble-muscled ego. :)_

Samaaskylar, if you're still reading this, I cut down on the brackets and I'm pretty amazed at the amount of insight you have shown. 1Yui - maraming salamat. Od srca. 3

P.S. Starting next chapter, Sasuke takes over the spotlight. Well, gradually.


End file.
